


The Future No One Wanted

by zeldadestry



Category: Nikita (TV 2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: 100_women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:50:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s good to see you,” he says.  His back is to her.  He stands at the windows, looking down at the city streets beneath him. </p><p>“It’s been a long time since I could say the same.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Future No One Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> 098, "writer's choice", for 100_women fanfic challenge  
> warning: mentions of major character deaths

“You shouldn’t do this,” Sean warns her. “When the actions of Fletcher’s administration are exposed, he’ll have his day in court and that’s how it should be. It’s not for you to decide his fate. It’s not your place to play executioner.”

He doesn’t really know her, and she doesn’t love him. He’s not Michael, or Birkhoff, or Alex. Could any of them have stopped her, stopped this? Of course. She wouldn’t even be at this point if any one of them were still with her. “Why are you even here?”

His voice is gentle. “Nikita, how many times have we fought together, side by side? Alex was family to me and you were family to her. Don’t shut me out.”

He’s a man who takes what he sees as the moral failures of those around him seriously. Afterwards, whatever happens, he’ll imagine he should’ve done more to- well, what? Help her? She hopes someday he’ll understand he never had any real comfort to offer her. “You’re a hypocrite,” she says, stopping just beyond the doorframe, leaving him, speaking without turning around to face him. “You killed the man who was responsible for your mother’s death. Don’t lie and tell me anyone could’ve stopped you from that.” 

 

He’s not trying to hide from her. He doesn’t even bother to protect himself. When she enters the hotel’s lobby, Sonia’s standing there, waiting, expecting her. “I’ll take you to him,” she says.

“Alright.”

Nikita stares at the elevator doors as they ride up to the penthouse. She and Sonia are reflected back in their polished golden surface. When they reach the top floor she pulls her gun. Sonia winces. “Nothing for you to worry about,” Nikita says, “so long as you stay out of my way.” 

The doors slide open and Nikita steps out onto the floor. Sonia stays in the elevator, pressed against the back wall. “Do you really think this is the answer?” she asks. 

Nikita doesn’t reply. She only stills for a moment, knowing Sonia will be able to see, displayed across her face, whatever she needs or wants to know. Sonia stares back at Nikita, her big, beautiful eyes unblinking. It’s only the doors closing, just before the elevator begins its descent, that puts a wall between them. 

 

“It’s good to see you,” he says. His back is to her. He stands at the windows, looking down at the city streets beneath him. 

“It’s been a long time since I could say the same.”

“How have you been?”

“Everyone I care about is dead.” That earns her a flinch. Could he really imagine she would be able to forgive him or herself? There are only two bullets loaded in the gun. “What happened to you? Why did you let Division become the same prison it was when Percy ran it?”

“Be as angry at me as you want, but don’t compare me to him, you know that’s not fair.”

“They died on your missions. Missions you weren’t honest about.”

“I gave everyone the necessary intel.”

“I thought what we agreed on was real transparency, all the details available, so that people could decide for themselves if they wanted to be part of any given operation.”

“With more experience, I began to believe that operatives don’t really want that much autonomy. Do you think that’s true?”

“No. I don’t know. I can’t speak for anyone but myself. I want to know everything I can, as much evidence as possible. I want to decide the truth for myself.”

Ryan finally turns to face her. He looks ill, but why should that bother her? If he is, didn’t he bring it on himself? “I understand why you want to kill me,” he says. “You probably should. I failed you. I destroyed my own ideals.” 

She puts the gun down on his desk without any doubt or fear. She knows that, even now, he would shoot himself before he would point a weapon at her. “There’s only one question,” she says.

“Yes?”

“And I doubt you can answer it, although you’re the only one who could.” He waits and she wishes it were as easy to hate him now as it is when she’s nowhere near him, she doesn’t want anyone to matter to her, not anymore. “Why?”

He takes his time, because that is his nature, to be thorough, precise, to continue an investigation, even when it’s futile, because they both know the reasons the mind supplies for what the body does with its hands, are excuses, rationalizations, more often than not. “When I started- it used to be so much easier to know what the right thing was to do, back when the only person I was in charge of was myself. That’s where I fell down, when I had to make decisions that impacted other people- I stopped being sure. The answers weren’t clear and I just- I stumbled. I did the best I could and it wasn’t enough because so often it seemed like all of the options were flawed, wrong. And so, at some point, I’m not sure I was aware of it, I stopped prioritizing the intentions behind what I did. I only looked to the results, to what I expected to be the best results.” He points to the bottom drawer of his desk. “I still have it. Look.” 

Nikita opens the drawer and takes out the plaque she and Michael gave to him long ago. “The Buck Stops Here”, it reads, in gold letters on a black background. It was Truman who supposedly used that saying as his motto. They had meant the gift as a joking acknowledgment that Ryan was now the boss, and not as a warning about the suffering of war, but perhaps he should’ve heeded it as one. She turns the plaque over, reads the message written in Michael’s hand on its back: For a friend who fortunately has, as John Milton advised, a double share of wisdom to pair with his strength. Nikita still remembers the exact quote. “But what is strength without a double share of wisdom,” she says, throat tight. 

“Nikki-”

She wipes under her eyes. “Shut up, Ryan.” 

“You should kill me,” Ryan repeats, pleads, even, like maybe he believes it’s all he has left to offer her. “I failed myself. I failed you.” 

“I said shut up.” She drops the plaque back in the drawer and kicks it shut. 

“Pick up your gun,” he says. 

“I’m never following an order from you again.”

“Then I’ll do it myself.”

He lunges for the weapon, but she’ll always be quicker than he, she gets there first and leaves his hand clutching at nothing. “You just want this all to be over, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And who’ll be left, then? Who’s going to stand for what went wrong?”

“Isn’t the answer obvious? You.”

“But I wasn’t the one in control, not like you. What I could say wouldn’t have the same impact. You’re the only one who can explain what the choices you made were, why you made them, and why you know them to be mistakes.” He takes a long, shuddering breath. “Be brave, Ryan, like you were before. Stay here, with me, and do whatever you can to repair this.” 

“Ok. Yes.” He sinks down into the nearest chair, rests his elbows on his thighs, and covers his eyes with a hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” she says.

“Do you think you might ever, years and years from today, I mean, do you think you could ever forgive me?”

“Yes.” 

He drops his hand, looks back at her in surprise. “You do?”

“Ryan- I already have.”

“But I don’t deserve it.”

“No. None of us ever do.” She moves closer to him, slowly lowers her hand to his face, and brushes the tears away.


End file.
